


The New Year's Eve Do Over

by rotrude



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Kissing, M/M, New Year's Eve, Romance, globetrotting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 18:29:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9250316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotrude/pseuds/rotrude
Summary: Written for Tavern Tales. Arthur devises a fun way to celebrate New Year's Eve.





	

Sydney, New Year's Eve

Arthur tells him, “I've got special plans for tonight.”

Merlin wants to ask him what they are but he can live with a bit of mystery. “I won't dress up,” he says, to make a point, to underline the difference between them. Because he's broke, he's already agreed to Arthur paying their way tonight, but he won't make any other changes to his ways. Arthur's his mate, through thick and thin, indissoluble bond kind of thing, but he won't let himself be turned into something he isn't, no matter how rich and smart Arthur is. Arthur's classy with it, but it doesn't mean Merlin should follow in his footsteps by virtue of friendship.

Arthur says, “I don't care. Just make sure to be there.”

Though he doesn't wear anything fancy, he does put some attention into the selection of his duds.

At around 9PM and after innumerable calls Arthur finally reveals their destination. It's the Chinese Laundry, one of the poshest clubs Merlin's ever heard of. The entry fee alone is prohibitive. The decor is something Merlin can only dream of. There are four main floors. On the bottom level, they play house and electronica. The walls are florescent and the music is ear splitting. They move onto the second floor and dance to a few top forties songs. They drink at the bar. They order Mohitos and keep going till they feel light-headed. So they can say they've tried them all, they have a dance on the third and fourth floors as well.

In spite of the alcohol imbibed, Arthur can still dance somewhat passably well, but Merlin's flailing all over the place. Still, he doesn't mind. It's New Year's Eve, it only happens once a year and there doesn't seem to be anyone around likely to take an incriminating pic of him. With no one but strangers as witness to this, he can look as silly as he likes.

Merlin's a bit disappointed though, when, come midnight, Arthur doesn't kiss him. He'd thought the invitation had meant something. After all, this is an important event and Arthur only asked him out and not all of their friends. That seems indicative of something. But he's evidently been mistaken about the nature of this outing and though he tells himself it was stupid to hope he can't help some dejection tingeing his feelings and marring his evening.

So at midnight they don't kiss but knock glasses together and wish each other a happy new year. Merlin looks at the couples snogging with only mild regret.

At two o'clock Arthur leans close and, to be quite honest, Merlin's heart jumps. That's it, he thinks, Arthur's going to kiss him, after all. But he doesn't. He only whispers in his ear. What he says sounds unintelligible to Merlin but the fluttering of his warm breath on the shell of his ear sends shivers down his spine. Arthur could be talking some strange ancient language and Merlin would be thrilled. Still, Merlin hasn't got the gist of the message and he's probably supposed to answer. “What did you say?”

“Come on,” Arthur shouts it this time. “We've got to get moving.”

“What?” Merlin's shoulders slump. “It's already over?”

“I've got a car waiting outside,” Arthur says, grabbing him by the arm. “Come with me.”

The car in question is no regular vehicle but a shiny black limo with a personalised licence plate. They pile in the back and onto white leather seats. The driver starts the car and takes to steering trough the crowded streets on no input from Arthur.

“But,” Merlin says.

Arthur quashes his objection before he can formulate it. “Don't worry. It's all taken care of.”

It turns out the limo is taking them to the airport. “Arthur, what does this mean?”

"Just follow me and you'll see.”

A private jet waits for them on the runway. It's small but sleek and very elegant on the inside. The pilot comes out of the cockpit and greets them, while flight assistants give them champagne to drink. It bubbles in slim flutes filled to the brim with pale liquid. “Arthur, where the hell are we going and more importantly how much has this cost you?”

“You'll see,” Arthur answers. “I suggest you catch some sleep in the meanwhile and drink a lot of water.”

Merlin wants to object, wants to find out what their destination is. But Arthur's right in as far as sleeping goes. He's danced and drunk all night. He feels more than a little wrung out. “I'll nap. But then we're talking,” he says, holding up a cautionary finger.

When he wakes up the view from the window is only of clouds and a meal is being served.

“It's lunchtime in Sydney,” Arthur says as he stirs and stretches in his seat. “Do tuck in.”

Lunch is Merlin's favourite dish, Greek Lemon chicken with mashed potatoes. So his mouth's watering, but he really means to do what he didn't manage before. “Lunchtime? That means we've been flying how many hours?”

“Quite enough.”

“But where are we going?” Merlin will run the risk of being petulant if it gets him in the know.

“Are you really letting your favourite dish get cold while you try to persuade me?” Arthur asks, tasting some of his own food. “Because this is great.”

“You know what I mean.” Arthur can't ignore the underlying issue, Merlin thinks.

“Let's just say that I want you to have the best New Year's Eve ever.”

To Merlin it makes no sense. “But it's over.” They'd left the night club at two, Merlin had slept for however many hours. It has to be the first of January now. “New Year's Eve's over.”

“Well, that depends.”

Merlin learns how when they land in Los Angeles. “It's impossible.”

“Not really,” Arthur says. “Los Angeles is 19 hours behind Sydney and 13 hours away in a long range private jet. We've just gained 6 hours, which means it's--”

Merlin makes the calculations. “Only a little past eight on the 31st!”

“Isn't that magnificent?” Arthur's eyes are rounded by happiness. “Don't you like it?”

Merlin wouldn't be so enthused if Arthur wasn't'. But seeing him so excited about sharing his plan makes Merlin feel warm and complicit. “Yeah, yeah I do.”

They dine at Crustacean, a stylish place in Hollywood, frequented by more stars than Merlin has ever seen piled together outside of the silver screen, and continue at Cleopatra's Ball. It takes place in the Egyptian Theatre Courtyard inside two indoor venues furnished with LED Walls and enlivened by DJs. It's a bit like Sydney all over again, the partying people, the drinking, the dances, the gyrating crowds.

But Merlin only loves it because Arthur seems to. Otherwise he'd deem it a bit repetitive. Yet dancing with Arthur again is fun. With their jobs taking them away from each other, they don't do this often. Plus, Merlin's more of a surfer type than a nightclub aficionado, so they only manage to get into the groove once or twice a year. But this is really good. Well, anything that brings him this close to Arthur is good. They're not together enough according to Merlin's books. Well, not together together. He means they don't hang too much. Which is bad. They're such old friends.

When midnight is five minutes away from striking, Arthur says, “Let's go to the roof.”

Merlin rather likes dancing close to Arthur, but there's no other objection he can offer other than I love being this close to you, which isn't something he can say out loud, not to Arthur. It'd be like opening a can of worms, only not so bad. He doesn't think his feelings are comparable to worms. Not really. Anyway up they go, elbowing their way among the crowd.

By the time they get to the top, the countdown has already begun. It thrills through him, speeds up his heart, gives him a sense of joyful expectation he hadn't believed himself capable of feeling as part of a do over.

“You know,” Merlin shouts over the din of the mob. “This is actually quite fun.”

“Yeah?” Arthur says, leaning close. “Are you happy?”

“Yeah.” All things considered, Merlin is. That is, he might be tired and jet lagged and be feeling really weird, but he's soaring. Never mind the disappointments of the day before (or is it still today) with Arthur apparently not wanting more, he's glad he's with Arthur, full stop. Having him by his side, romantic developments or not, is everything Merlin will ever ask for. “I'm brilliant.”

The countdown stops and fireworks flower in the sky in a wild array of colours. Yellows give way to greens and then to blues. Merlin's watching one bloom violet when Arthur turns him around, places his hands on his shoulders and his lips on his.

“Happy New Year, Merlin,” he says, drawing back, his voice punched out.

Merlin's never liked do overs quite as much.


End file.
